Innocence Found
by cesardeborja
Summary: Cesare Borgia finds a baby, abandoned in the basilica of St Peters. The child's name is Erik Destler; a child who would one day grow up to become the infamous Phantom of the Opera


I remember it as if it were yesterday. Thinking about it now, all these years later, I wonder what on earth I was thinking. I wasn't yet a cardinal, still just simply the Bishop of Valencia and living under the thumb of my father; Pope Alexander VI. Yet to me, I was just Cesare Borgia. I wasn't a priest; I wasn't son of the Pope. I was just me. Cesare. A young man trying to make my way in the world, a young man in love with the beautiful Fiametta, a young man who was still a student at the University of Pisa. Everything changed when I returned to Rome, when Pope Innocent invested me with the bishopric of Valencia. He had died not long afterwards; my father had been voted in as Pope. And we had begun to haunt the Vatican as a family. Whilst at that point at least, we did not live in the Apostolic Palace I could often be found haunting its corridors and indeed ghosting the lofty cathedral of St Peters.

Looking back, I wonder what had taken me into the basilica on that morning of 1492. I had never been a religious man, had despised the role that my father had given me. Yet I strived to live up to his expectations, had acted as priest and as bishop; had self-flagellated when I sinned. Which was of course, often. Even now, I still bore the scars from the day I had scourged myself and hammered nails through my hands. Did I regret it? Yes. But it had been expected of me. Back then I had wanted to do whatever my father wished, to prove to him that I was a better man than my brother.

Now as I stood before Pinturicchio's murals, I thought back to the day I had found the child. A small spread across my lips as I recalled hearing him cry and finding him there. Such a small little bundle, swaddled in white blankets. He had been all alone, no one in sight. His mother had obviously abandoned him…

_A high pitched cry echoed throughout the basilica. As Cesare Borgia stepped out of the confessional, having confessed yet more sins, he snapped his head up upon hearing the cry. It was a baby, and by the sounds of it a very small baby. Such a high pitched cry could only belong to a new born. Wandering forward, his bishop's robes billowing about his legs, his cold as ice blue eyes scanned the basilica for the source of the cry. Then, his gaze stopped on a small squirming mass of white blankets._

_Walking forward, a scowl upon his handsome features, Cesare had walked forward to the little crying mass and bent down. Lying there, squirming and screaming was a tiny baby; covered in white blankets, a note pinned to his chest. With gentle digits, Cesare had pulled the blankets away revealing the tiniest of human beings. Except he hadn't been quite normal. Far from normal, in fact._

_The child had been skeletal, a mass of skin and bone. His skull like face was covered with a tiny sackcloth mask. With shaking hands, Cesare had gently removed the mask, revealing a face that would have been hideous to anyone but him. It was as if he were looking upon a skull covered by a thin film of skin, except there was no nose. This child looked like a living corpse._

_"You poor little fellow…"_

_The words escaped him before his brain could think. Was he showing feeling? That was rare for him, for this young man who felt nothing but rage. But this poor little thing tugged at his heartstrings. Gently replacing the mask, he pulled the note from the child's blankets:_

{To whoever finds my child: His name is Erik Destler, although I beseech you to give him your own surname. As you may have seen the child is a monster, and I do not wish to keep him. I pray you have the strength to bring him up as your own}

_Frowning, Cesare had looked upon the small child. It was strange to him, this bizarre feeling of wanting to protect someone._

_"Shall I take you in, little one? Shall I look after you?"_

_The child had stopped screaming then, looked at him with those strange yellow eyes. It was as if the child was asking to be taken in, to be loved as his own child. A small smile crept over him as he looked upon the tiny human being, and he nodded,_

_"I shall take you in, boy. I'll bring you up as my own. Deformities or no, you deserve a happy life…"_

Now, many years had passed. Erik had left not long ago, just disappeared out of the blue. No note had been left, he'd just gone. I worried daily for his safety, but I knew I could never tie him to Rome. Ever since he was a child he had shown an extraordinary genius. He had devoured the books in the Vatican library and had proven to be an excellent musician.

Wherever he was, Erik would do well for himself. Wherever in the world he was, I knew his genius would prove to be his making.

I just had no idea that the next time I saw him, my son (for I called him such, and had done now for a very long time) would prove to be the famous Phantom of the Opera. Part of me was frightened that someone bad would happen to him, that the hatred he had so long faced in the world would get to him in such a way.

_Lord protect my son, wherever he may be…_

I muttered quietly to the golden crucifix on the cabinet in the corner. Despite not being remotely religious, I felt I had to do this. It was my job to protect my son. And although he was not in Rome with me, I still endeavoured to do so.

Even if it meant praying to a God I did not believe in.


End file.
